But you couldn't. She was aware of it now as if it were a voice shouting outside a house, shouting passionate verities in a hot sunlight, a voice that cries while people talk insincerely in a darkened room and pretend not to hear. When she was done she checked the patio door and carried his body into the garage, burying his remains next to the ten year old girl he had raped and killed last autumn, whose bones were starting to show in small areas where the maggots had feasted. Without realizing what she has done, she's made a dreadful mess of it. She had made her first fight for dignity and freedom as a grown-up and independent Person, and this was how the universe had treated her. I made Hainault’s acquaintance, stood him drinks, lent him money. Only she is not Madame Valade at all. Her bald head had swollen on her shoulders, puffy with fresh blood that ringed her mouth. She gazed with a quiet detachment toward the window and the Oxford Street traffic, and in her heart she was busy kicking this man to death.
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